


An Eagle's Surprise

by KChan88



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joly, Musichetta, and the Amis throw Bossuet a surprise birthday party. Somehow, Enjolras is convinced to help decorate, and there is wine, chocolate cake, and paper eagles hanging everywhere. Canon era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Eagle's Surprise

**Summer, 1828**

Enjolras doesn’t hear the door to his rooms open. He doesn’t hear footsteps making their way through sitting room, he doesn’t hear the creak of the floorboard as someone enters his bedroom. He doesn’t hear anything until Joly’s voice is in his ear.

“Enjolras?”

Enjolras jumps, knocking over several of the items on his desk, the book he’d been reading sliding out of his hands.

“You’ve fallen asleep at your desk again,” Joly points out, smiling as he puts a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder, steadying him.

“So I have,” Enjolras says, blinking a few times.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Joly says, trying to sound stern but thoroughly failing. “The only reason you’d be falling asleep sitting up in the middle of the day is if you didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

“I’ve been trying to get those pamphlets we needed to get to the printers finished and so fell behind on my reading for classes and…” Enjolras trails off gestures at the book on the floor, leaning over to retrieve it.

“Well, you cannot do anything of quality if you are this sleep deprived,” Joly says, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Surely Combeferre has imparted the same knowledge to you?”

“He has,” Enjolras says, a small smile on his lips. “Speaking of Combeferre, did he give you his key to our rooms? How did you get in?”

“I stopped by Necker to pick them up from him so I could come see you,” Joly replies, a twinkle in his eyes.

“For?”

“As you know, we are throwing Bossuet a surprise party for his birthday this evening,” he says. “And as it turns out, we need another set of hands to help decorate, and I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Me?” Enjolras questions, putting a hand to his chest in question. “I’m always willing to help a friend, but…decorating? I’m not sure how much help I’d be.”

“Excellent help, I’m sure,” says a wry voice from the doorway.

“Musichetta, don’t tease him,” Joly protests, turning to answer. “Or he’ll feel too shy to come.”

“Nonsense,” she says, raising her eyebrows at Enjolras, a smile flickering at her lips. Enjolras returns his own version of the exact same expression, suppressing a chuckle at the idea that initially, Musichetta was immensely distrustful of him. Aside from Combeferre, she’d been one of the first people to challenge and expand his mind about the role of women in republican politics, and many encounters with her turned into learning experiences. She was, without a doubt, one of the sharpest people he’d met in Paris.

“You could be a spy for how quietly you enter a room,” Enjolras remarks.

“I could say the same in regards to you,” Musichetta replies.

“Is it so proper?” Enjolras asks, rising to retie his cravat and pick up the jacket he’d tossed onto his bed after going out for breakfast that morning “For you to enter a man’s room in such a fashion?” He tries to maintain a serious tone, but knows the undercurrent of teasing is obvious.

“Enjolras,” she says, one hand resting on her hip and with one glance at Joly, Enjolras, who knows he not usually so perceptive of these types of things, can see his friend falling more in love. “You are the leader of a secret republican society, I’m not sure you should be dictating what is proper.”

“Perhaps not.”

“You have grown bolder in the time I’ve known you,” she says. “And you sound like Courfeyrac.”

“Courfeyrac’s antics tend to be infectious,” Enjolras says simply. “All right. I will help, but my eye for the aesthetic may not be the best.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Joly assures him. “Grantaire is already at our rooms starting, and Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Bahorel are busy distracting Bossuet until he arrives. Combeferre is at Necker and Feuilly at work, though I think he will arrive in an hour or so.”

“You have thought of everything, it seems,” Enjolras says. “I’m sure Bossuet will be absolutely surprised.”

It’s a roughly ten minute walk to Joly’s rooms from Enjolras and Combeferre’s. The first thing they hear upon arrival is a shout and what sounds very much like a chair falling out from under someone.

“Damn it!” Grantaire shouts, loudly enough for them to discern on the other side of the door.

They open it, seeing Grantaire splayed out on the floor, a severe, grumpy expression etched onto his features.

“Shit chair,” he mumbles, seemingly not having heard them enter, too preoccupied by the crash of the chair beneath him.

“Are you all right!?” Joly exclaims, dashing over to him, looking concerned, quickly followed by Enjolras and Musichetta.

“I think just my pride is bruised,” Grantaire grumbles. “Hello Enjolras,” he says. “I see these two roped you in to helping?”

“Indeed they did,” Enjolras answers. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“My head aches a bit and I’m embarrassed, but otherwise I believe I’m fine,” he says, waving them off. “Haven’t even had a drop yet today so the full blame rests on Joly’s bad taste in chairs.”

“I have fine taste in chairs,” Joly argues, still eyeing Grantaire for injury. “They weren’t meant for people to stand on.”

“Well, I couldn’t reach to hang this otherwise,” Grantaire says, holding up one of the homemade eagle cut outs Enjolras knows Jehan and Musichetta worked on together.

“Enjolras is here now, he’s tall enough to reach the higher spots,” Joly says, maneuvering Grantaire by the shoulders and sitting him down on the sofa. “You sit for a bit, I want to make sure your head is okay.”

“It’s fine Joly,” Grantaire says, switching abruptly from grumpy to reassuring.

“Just in case,” Joly says briskly, moving toward his wine rack and pulling out a bottle. “Now, who would like some wine while we get to work?”

“While we decorate?” Enjolras asks, unsure.

“It will add even more excitement to the proceedings!” Joly says, uncorking the bottle with enthusiasm. “Musichetta darling, the glasses, if you please?”

She complies with a grin, pouring three glasses and hesitating over the fourth.

“Enjolras?”

“Just a bit,” Enjolras replies. “One of us should have our wits about us, after all, lest all these finely made eagles and other decorations be lopsided. I suppose it will be a good thing that Feuilly will arrive soon so he can check our work.”

“You don’t trust our capabilities?” Joly asks, elbowing Enjolras gently in the ribs.

“Of course I do,” Enjolras says with a slight grin. “But last time I saw the two of you,” he continues, gesturing at Joly and Grantaire. “Consume a significant amount of wine together, I believe you got into a pun off. For two hours.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says, taking his first sip. “Don’t lie, Enjolras, we saw you laughing from your corner while you worked.”

“I never said I wasn’t amused,” Enjolras says, sipping from his own glass. “I simply said it was not a particularly productive evening, and if Bossuet is to arrive in a few hours…”

“Never fear, Enjolras,” Musichetta says. “Unlike these two, I know where my limits are, and I will make sure these decorations are up in time for Bossuet.”

Enjolras laughs and begins hanging some of the paper eagles, laughing softly to himself as he listens to Grantaire and Joly’s shouts of protests at Musichetta’s words.

Almost exactly an hour later there is the sound of a key scraping in the lock, and Joly nearly jumps out of his skin.

“He cannot be home yet!” he says, voice going up a few octaves. “The others were supposed to be distracting him…I never should have…” The door finally opens, all four of them frozen in movement only to see Feuilly in the entrance.

“Oh, Feuilly,” Joly says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I thought you were Bossuet.”

“Not quite,” Feuilly says with a smile, carrying what looks like some kind of baked good. “I’ve got a bit too much hair for that. You gave me a key yesterday in case you weren’t here, remember? So I could bring the cake in?”

“Ah, yes,” Joly says, laughing at himself. “I’d quite forgotten.”

Enjolras finishes what he’s doing and goes over to Feuilly, looking at the cake as Feuilly uncovers it. It’s an intricate chocolate concoction that Enjolras knows Bossuet will love.

“The baker’s wife down the street from my apartment has a soft spot for me,” Feuilly says. “And when I told her my friend’s birthday was approaching she gave me this for half price when I told her Bossuet loved chocolate. As it turns out, the whole family is made up of republicans, though they keep quiet about it.”

“Half price chocolate cakes and good politics,” Enjolras says. “They sound like wonderful people.”

“They are,” Feuilly says. “And there is more chocolate in this cake than any other I’ve seen, so Bossuet should be pleased.”

“Do you think he knows?” Joly asks, suddenly looking worried.

“Knows?” Enjolras asks.

“About the party,” Joly clarifies. “I’m horrible at surprises, which is why I had Courfeyrac take the lead on distracting Bossuet, otherwise it would have come spilling out of my mouth for sure.”

“Even if he does know,” Grantaire says, “He will still be just as pleased. It’s Bossuet.”

“And the thought that counts,” Feuilly finishes, offering Joly a reassuring smile and Enjolras watches as the worry melts from Joly’s face, replaced with the near permanent sheen of joy he usually associates with his friend.

“Agreed,” Enjolras says with a nod. He looks around the room, surveying their work. “I think we’re just about finished here. Feuilly, what do you think, as an outside observer?”

“I think Bossuet will appreciate the color scheme,” he says, pointing at the tricolor streamers. “And the eagles are a nice touch, where did those come from?”

“Prouvaire and I made those,” Musichetta says. “As it turns out, our poet is quite crafty.”

“He makes an excellent cockade,” Enjolras notes, turning around as the door opens a second time, revealing Combeferre, who is sopping wet.”

“Damn summer rainstorm,” he says, leaving his wet bag by the door so as not to drip water all over the floor. “Hello, everyone.” He pulls off his rain specked spectacles, wiping them off on his wet shirt to no avail.

“I don’t think that will do you any good, my friend,” Enjolras says, striding over and taking the glasses to wipe them dry on his own shirt as Joly goes to retrieve some towels.

“Thank you,” Combeferre says, putting them back on. “It seems I got caught in the thick of it, so I imagine the rest of our friends will be soaked when they arrive.”

“I saw the clouds,” Feuilly says, sympathetic. “Seems I just missed it.”

“Here,” Joly says, handing him the towels and taking his jacket. “Let me hang that up so it can dry faster.”

“The bottles of wine you asked me to pick up are in the bag,” Combeferre says, taking the towels gratefully and drying himself off. “Thankfully unharmed, I hope.”

“ _More_  wine?” Enjolras questions. “Joly, you have an entire rack.”

“It doesn’t hurt to have  _options_ ,” Joly insists. “And there are ten of us after all. White, red, dry, sweet, you never know what people might like.”

“Spoken like a true host,” Grantaire says in agreement. “Besides, if I know Bossuet, he can make it through one of those bottles by himself and still seem sober.”

“You are right about that,” Enjolras says.

“It’s a marvel,” Combeferre adds. “But should we finish setting up? I suspect they’ll be here soon, it’s nearly 5:30.”

“Yes!” Joly says, enthusiastically. “Yes, you’re right. I cannot wait to see Bossuet’s face when he walks in.”

At seeing the jubilant expression on Joly’s face, the glimmer of glee in his eyes, Enjolras cannot help but allow the same emotions to fill him up. No matter what the circumstance, Joly is always the happiest of them all, and even on the greyest, most frustrating days, days when even Enjolras’ own hope and optimism falters, five minutes spent with Joly will instantly cheer him. Enjolras helps Feuilly cut the cake, Musichetta sets out more wine glasses while Joly and Grantaire fill them, and Combeferre straightens any lopsided decorations. They’ve just finished their work when they hear voices outside the door.

“Not that I mind your company,” Bossuet says, and there is the sign of cheerful suspicion in his voice. “But why are the lot of you coming home with me?”

“I haven’t seen you in ages, my eagle,” Courfeyrac says, a flare of drama in his voice.

“Courfeyrac, you just spent two hours with me,” Bossuet says, but there is amusement in his voice. “And you saw me yesterday.”

“It is never enough,” Courfeyrac argues.

“Quite true,” Prouvaire adds, very clearly trying not to laugh.

Bossuet does laugh, and opens the door, stopping dead.

“Surprise!” Joly and Grantaire shout simultaneously as Bahorel gives Bossuet a small shove so they can all come inside.

“Well,” Bahorel says, clapping Bossuet on the back. “I think you succeeded in surprising him!”

“Is that a chocolate cake?” Bossuet asks in response, pointing.

“It is!” Joly replies. “Feuilly brought it.”

“And are those…” Bossuet squints. “Are those eagles hanging everywhere?”

“You are not hallucinating!” Grantaire says, throwing an arm around Bossuet’s shoulder as Joly puts a glass of wine in his hand. “Enjolras helped decorate, even.”

Bossuet quirks one eyebrow, still looking shocked but a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Quite an eye for hanging things I would not have predicted,” he says.

“Trust me, I didn’t predict it either,” Enjolras replies. “I’m sure I had luck on my side. And Musichetta and Jehan’s excellent craftsmanship of course.”

“You two made these?” Bossuet questions.

“We did,” Musichetta says, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “It seemed appropriate.”

“That means all of you have been  _planning_ this and you managed to keep it from me?”

“We did indeed,” Combeferre says, starting to dole out the cake onto plates and handing the first one to Bossuet.

“I nearly told you at least twelve times,” Joly said, ushering them all toward the sofa and chairs so they can all sit down. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy.”

Bossuet nudges Joly affectionately, and though Enjolras didn’t think it possible, his friend looks even more pleased.

“Thank you,” Bossuet says, looking around at all of them. “You are the greatest friends a person could ask for.”

 “And it seems you have found some luck on your birthday,” Combeferre says. “I got caught in the rain on my way here.”

“We just missed it, as it happens,” Bossuet says. “Prouvaire pointed out a rainbow on the walk here. Perhaps my luck is changing! Though I’m certain I must be quite the lucky one to have friends who will surprise me so on my birthday.”

“Hear hear!” Joly exclaims. “Let’s have a toast then shall we? To good luck, to friendship, and of course to Bossuet, the eagle of all our hearts on his birthday.”

Ten glasses rise into the air, and as they do, ten hearts lift in unison.


End file.
